


Night Shift

by aterribleinfluence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, F/M, I thought it would be a fun challenge though, pretty tame stuff but if blood squicks you give this one a miss, this is a little weirder than I usually go guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence
Summary: ...as he watched, a thin drop of blood slid down the length of his arm towards his wrist. He flexed his fingers automatically and the movement of his tendons made the little drop roll to the side.Abby sighed faintly, a sound he had never thought to hear her make, a soft, longing sound, almost a moan. She seemed utterly, inexplicably transfixed, and Marcus found in turn he was transfixed by her. He had never seen her like this...From the kabby kink meme, the prompt was: 'Gimme some cliched vampire porn, pls. Either one can be the vamp, but I want some romance novel level cheesy tropery.'





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

 

She didn’t look like his idea of a vampire.

Or at least, she didn’t look like what Marcus’ idea of a vampire _would_ have been, if he had ever given it any thought at all, which he hadn’t. Marcus had never been particularly interested in ghost stories or horror movies growing up, and his only knowledge of vampires at all were the Count from Sesame Street and hazy recollections of that Twilight movie his niece Octavia had dragged him to see when she was younger. He’d fallen asleep halfway through that, anyway.

Later, when he _did_ think about, Marcus realised his mental image of a female vampire would be something like Morticia Addams, or Elvira, Mistress of the Dark – long black hair, long black dress, pale skin, hooded eyes...

Doctor Abigail Griffin was nothing like that. She was a small woman, barely five foot and change, with soft brown eyes and golden brown hair that she kept pulled back into a ponytail when she was at work. She had a dry sense of humour and a warm smile, and she was _kind_ – unlike a lot of the other doctors she was never condescending, never acted superior to the rest of the staff. She didn’t insist on ‘Doctor Griffin’ either; to everyone who knew her, from the head of the hospital down to the janitors, she was always simply ‘Abby’.

Marcus had known Abby for some five years, since he had started working security at the hospital at nights, and had been hopelessly infatuated with her for most of that time. She was the most breathtaking woman he had ever met; smart and funny and kind and so beautiful she could make his heart skip with a smile. They’d gotten off to a rocky start in his first week when she forgot her ID and he refused to let her into the building and had to be saved by Doctor Jaha on his way past, but her resentful glares at him whenever they passed each other in the corridors had long since turned to cheerful greetings, and they were...friends, or at least he thought so.

They chatted to each other whenever they got a chance. They tried to have their lunch breaks (or whatever the midnight equivalent was – Marcus always thought of it as lunch anyway) at the same time so that they could spend time together. Abby was a fascinating person; she had travelled the whole world, it seemed like, whereas Marcus had never left the state. She had worked with Médecins Sans Frontières in Africa and spoke several languages fluently. And yet she always seemed genuinely interested to hear about _his_ life, boring by comparison though it was. She listened with interest to his stories about working as a prison guard, and sympathised with his struggle to keep going after the death of his mother, for whom he had acted as carer for many years. Abby had lost her husband Jake some years ago, and told him how hard she had found it at first to piece her life back together. She laughed at the anecdotes Marcus told about Bellamy and Octavia, and confided in him about her own strained relationship with her daughter Clarke, who now lived far away in another country.

Marcus looked forward to every time he saw her. And he saw a lot of her, because she always worked nights. That, he figured afterwards, really _should_ have been his first clue.

The second clue didn’t come until later.

It was all the asshole on the bicycle’s fault. In a big city like Arkadia, there was _always_ some asshole on a bicycle, but this _particular_ asshole had been riding without lights in the evening when the daylight was almost gone and Marcus was on his way to work, and when said asshole swerved to avoid a car that was about to hit him – presumably because of the lack of lights – he had barrelled into Marcus instead.

Marcus, taken completely off guard, didn’t even have a chance to roll with the blow and ended up in the gutter. When he clambered swearing to his feet both cyclist and car were long gone, and he had a long gash in the right arm of his shirt and, upon further inspection, the arm beneath. He must have caught it on something sharp during his fall, perhaps some part of the bicycle.

The upshot was that he arrived at work ten minutes late, his shirt sleeve soaked with blood and in a filthy temper. He also looked like...well, like something that had rolled in a gutter, so of course almost the first person he saw was Abby, whose eyes widened when they landed on him.

“What the hell happened to _you?_ ” she asked.

“Asshole on a bicycle.”

Her eyes flickered to his arm. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine, really...”

“Don’t be ridiculous Marcus. I’m a surgeon, remember? I’ve seen much worse.”

He held out his arm awkwardly and she hissed sympathetically through her teeth.

“Ouch. Here, follow me; I’ll clean it up for you.” She gestured at him to walk with her and headed towards her office at the end of the corridor. Marcus followed her reluctantly.

“I’m sure you have more important things to—”

“Nothing that can’t wait ten minutes. You might need stitches, Marcus.”

The thought of someone poking a needle into his skin made him shudder, as Abby had certainly known it would, and was enough to shut him up as they walked into her office. She gestured for him to sit down on a comfortable chair and drew up another beside it, taking his arm gently and extending it outwards onto her lap.

Marcus swallowed hard. The intimacy of her touch on his hand was enough to make his heart pound, and as she bent her head to unbutton the cuff of his shirt at his wrist, he had to remind himself strenuously that she was a _professional_ , and the fact that they were alone together and she was technically undressing him was neither here nor there.

It didn’t help. It never did, when it came to Abby.

He had actually gotten up the courage to ask her out once, for breakfast after work – the night shift equivalent of a dinner date, he figured, but maybe a little less high pressure. Even so, she had politely but firmly turned him down, and for the next couple of weeks she had seemed to be avoiding him. Marcus didn’t press her of course, and eventually things between them had gone back to normal, but he _was_ disappointed, and a little confused. He didn’t think he had such a big ego as to have misread the sparks of attraction between them and he couldn’t help but feel slightly hurt that Abby apparently didn’t even consider him worth giving a chance.

Still, he wasn’t such an ass that he would continue to make moves on a woman who wasn’t interested, or interrogate her about her reasons for rejecting him. He was happy just to be on friendly terms with her again when the awkwardness died down, and had long since resigned himself to pining quietly.

_God_ , it was difficult sometimes though, with her deft fingers brushing against the skin of his wrist, and the faint scent of her perfume filling his lungs with every breath. He tried very hard not to let his eyes drift to neckline of her shirt, the tantalising glimpse of her breasts as she bent over him. Just her proximity was making his head spin.

“You should be more careful,” she said as she started to roll up what remained of his sleeve, her voice soft, a little teasing. “Not much use for a security guard who can’t use his arm.”

“Is the diagnosis that bad, doctor?” he replied.

She smiled, her lovely brown eyes glancing up at him through long dark lashes. “I think it looks worse than it is,” she said. “Shall we take a look?”

She rolled his sleeve up to past his elbow, her touch lingering – he thought, although perhaps it was ego again – a little longer than necessary on his bicep. He expected her to reach for an antiseptic wipe, but instead she stilled suddenly, staring at the wound on his forearm.

Marcus followed her gaze, worried suddenly that maybe it _was_ worse than it felt, but it...wasn’t. His shirt had taken the dirt of the fall, so the wound underneath looked clean enough; a shallow, slightly jagged slice about three inches long. It had bled into his shirt a fair bit, and the material of the cloth must have acted as a sort of bandage because the removal of it had made it start to bleed a little again – as he watched, a thin drop of blood slid down the length of his arm towards his wrist. He flexed his fingers automatically and the movement of his tendons made the little drop roll to the side.

Abby sighed faintly, a sound he had never thought to hear her make, a soft, longing sound, almost a moan. She seemed utterly, inexplicably transfixed, and Marcus found in turn he was transfixed by her. He had never seen her like this; Abby was always moving, always working, and this sudden stillness was entrancing in a way he couldn’t explain. Her breathing was suddenly shallow, quick, her chest rising and falling rapidly in a very distracting way. Marcus averted his eyes again, his mouth dry, and when he caught sight of her face _her_ eyes looked almost black, the pupils wide, lashes fluttering half closed as if in a dream. Her lips parted, and she leaned closer over the cut, her fingers caressing his skin lightly where she held him, tracing the veins of his wrist almost absently, as though she didn’t realise she was doing it. He could feel her breath ghosting on his skin, raising the hairs on his arm...

For one heart stopping moment he thought she might press her lips to him. Just the thought of it, the phantom sensation of her soft, sweet, wet mouth on his skin made his breath hitch with inescapable, aching desire. The sound was barely on the edge of hearing, but Abby’s head snapped up, her eyes suddenly wide, almost frightened.

“I have to go,” she said wildly, wrenching her hand away from his arm and standing up so fast her chair fell over. Before Marcus could speak, before he could even think past the fog in his brain, she had reached the door and pushed through it, and he could hear her faint footsteps disappearing swiftly down the corridor, almost at a run.

Marcus sat there in her office for a long time, stunned and bewildered, unable to let go of the image of Abby’s soft, parted lips, the quiet, undeniably erotic sound she had made, the desire he had seen in her eyes.

He couldn’t imagine what had caused such a rapid, inexplicable shift in her manner towards him, but it didn’t matter – no matter the reason, his blood was pounding through his veins, and he realised that under his clothes he was achingly, almost painfully hard.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

 

He was lying in bed the next morning, just drifting off to sleep, when she came to him.

Marcus lived a solitary life – the hours he kept made that almost mandatory – but he had never really felt the loss of what most people would consider a ‘normal’ routine. He had long since trained himself to be ready for bed when the first light of dawn started to filter through his heavy curtains, and was used to drifting off to the faint sound of early morning traffic and the soft grey light of the morning outside. Even _before_ this job he had always had trouble going to sleep before the small hours of the morning, or waking up before noon.

Besides, Marcus _liked_ the night. He found the darkness comforting, in a way he couldn’t explain. On those brief periods he had off work to visit distant family, he now found being around in the daytime too bright and too busy, and it made him tired. He much preferred living in the city – this city, _his_ city – at night, doing his grocery shopping at 24 hour stores, nodding to the garbage men and shift workers, walking the streets in the orange sodium glow of streetlights. At this time of year, when the nights were longer than the days, it felt like _his_ world, and it was everyone else who had got it the wrong way around. Perhaps he was just in some fundamental way meant to be nocturnal.

But it was in this dreamy, grey hour just before dawn, caught between sleeping and waking, that she came to him.

Marcus didn’t so much see her at first as become slowly aware of a presence in his room, and it was strange how his immediate thought wasn’t fear or even shock, but excitement. Anticipation. As though his body already knew what he didn’t. He pushed himself up into a sitting position against the wooden headboard of the bed, the sheets falling away from his bare chest. Marcus always slept naked – an old habit from growing up in his mother’s incredibly overheated house – but for some reason he didn’t feel vulnerable or exposed.

“Abby,” he said.

Nothing more than that single word seemed needed, and he was glad, because speaking was almost impossible. She stood there by his window, outlined in the faint, pale light that filtered through the closed drapes, watching him. Her hair was unbound, a wild, dark mane around her shoulders. She was barefoot, and wearing only a slip of deep crimson silk, edged with lace. She was breathtaking in an almost literal sense – for a moment Marcus hardly remembered how to breathe as his eyes raked over her, an impossibly alluring fantasy made flesh.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, and her voice was Abby’s, but soft, low, almost confessional.

“This is a dream,” said Marcus.

A heartbeat passed; she stood like a statue, pale and lovely in the dark.

“Yes,” she murmured. “A dream.”

She walked across the room to him, bare feet silent on the floor. Marcus was mesmerised, and before he knew what was happening, she had climbed onto his bed and straddled his hips, her face inches from his own. Her lips looked deep red in the half-light, her eyes black.

“I want you,” she said, her voice like velvet, heavy with longing. “I want you so badly...I shouldn’t be here...”

Marcus felt a shudder of pure lust ripple through him. The scent of her was intoxicating, and although somehow he had expected her to be cold, she was _warm_...and when he reached out shaky hands to touch her bare legs, her skin was soft and yielding as a fantasy.

Abby’s eyes closed at his touch, her head tilting back ever so slightly, her lips parting. She was breathing rapidly. “Tell me to leave, Marcus,” she whispered. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“I want you.” He hardly recognised his own voice, hoarse and trembling with desire. It made no difference; surely he was only telling her what she already knew. He was hard as iron beneath her, every nerve and sinew of his body aflame. “I _need_ you.”

Abby made a wild, desperate sound and pressed her lips fiercely to his, claiming him with her mouth. Her hands caressed the firm, taut muscles of his shoulders as she kissed him, running over his bare chest, leaving trails of fire across his skin. Marcus moaned into her mouth, his hands sliding up her thighs to pull her hips closer, pressing her against where he urgently needed her. The delicate silk of her slip, gathered up around her hips, rubbed deliciously against his throbbing erection, the only barrier between bare skin.

Abby pulled away from his mouth, tugging at his lips between her teeth before moving to kiss along the faint stubble of his jawline, and lower...Marcus let his head fall back onto the pillow, baring his neck to her, desperate to feel her sweet mouth on every inch of his body. Abby hesitated for a moment and then her lips brushed against his throat, softly...once...then again, a little firmer. She let her teeth graze his skin and moaned softly...

Marcus could feel her nipples, stiff tight peaks pressing against his chest through the silk of her slip. She rolled her hips against his in an eager, instinctive motion and he felt the wet, aching heat of her core, realised that the air was already thick with the scent of her arousal. He groaned, thrusting hips a little against her, desperate for friction, and suddenly Abby tore her lips from his neck and rose up onto her knees before sinking down onto him, enveloping his cock in tight, wet heat.

She stilled for a moment, her eyes locked with his, breathing hard. One of her hands was tangled in his hair, the other pressed against his heaving chest, palm resting over his pounding heart.

“ _Oh_...” she breathed. “You feel...”

She didn’t finish the sentence – Marcus wondered if she felt as he did that it was a moment beyond words. Then she started to move, and all thought flew out of his head, overwhelmed by sensation. He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her wildly, cried out her name again and again as she rode him, her slender, supple body rising and falling on top of him. Her hair spilled around her shoulders in glossy waves, her eyes dark, her skin pale as moonlight. Every movement was swelling, rising pleasure, and with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed, he surged upwards, clutching her close to him as he thrust deeper into her.

Outside the world was waking, but here in this bed there was only the two of them, their bodies entwined, Abby’s nails clawing at his back, Marcus sliding his hand between them to rub against her slick, sensitive clit as she whimpered and rocked against him. They were both reaching the edge of something, not separately but as one single, gasping, writhing soul, a vast unknown brink from which there could be no return—

With a keening, desperate cry, Abby pitched forward and buried her head in his neck.

A sudden sharp, crimson thread of pain shot through the endless sea of pleasure, and it was enough to tip Marcus over the edge, and a long, wild groan tore from his throat as release tore through him, his hips jerking upwards urgently, coming inside her so hard he thought he might pass out from the sheer, blissful force of it. He collapsed backwards onto the bed, Abby falling with him, and she came a heartbeat after he did, the muscles deep inside her clenching tightly, her cry muffled in the crook of his neck. Marcus felt the expected post-sex languor already slipping through his own body, far more rapidly and more insistent than usual, even as she reached her peak. He could feel her, as if from far away, shuddering with ecstasy in his arms, pulsing around him, her climax continuing far longer in this dream than reality would allow, her whimpering moans against his skin drifting into the hazy satisfied mist of his subconscious as darkness overtook him.

When he next opened his eyes, she was gone.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

Marcus took the next night off work, something he hardly ever did. He was feeling weak, slightly dizzy when he stood, and he knew from previous jobs that wasn’t any state to be in when working security.

He also felt _tired_ , which was rare these days – he had long ago gotten used to a mostly nocturnal existence, and he had slept for the same amount of hours as he usually did. He could only guiltily put it down to the dream he’d had, the evidence of which had been drying on his bedsheets when he awoke in the evening. He’d just about had the energy to call in sick and stumble to the laundry before collapsing on the couch and spending the rest of the night watching old cartoons. He could have just gone back to bed, but there was no sense in messing up his whole sleep cycle for a passing cold, or whatever this was.

The dream itself faded disappointingly quickly into hazy recollection, only tantalising glimpses of it remaining in his mind, like an old flickering movie reel with too many frames missing. He remembered enough, though, to jerk off to very satisfyingly in the shower before he left for work the next night – bracing himself against the cool slippery tiles with one hand while he conjured up half-remembered sensations of Abby’s soft, silk-clad breasts pressed against his chest, her hips grinding against him, her voice moaning his name.

He had expected to find seeing her at work a little awkward, but she wasn’t there. She supposed if there was a bug going round she might have caught it too, but the timing seemed...strange.

She wasn’t there the next night either. By the third night he was sufficiently worried to ask Doctor Jaha if he knew if Abby had changed her hours without mentioning it to him, and was curtly informed that hospital business regarding doctors was not his concern.

On the fourth night, she came to him again.

It was still before dawn; he had only gotten home a few minutes ago.  Just like last time – although now he was in the kitchen putting away dishes instead of lying in bed – Marcus became aware that he wasn’t alone in his apartment anymore. For a split-second he was too cowardly to turn around, afraid that it was only wishful thinking, his imagination playing tricks on him, but when he finally turned, there she was. Standing in the middle of his living room, watching him with an unreadable expression.

She looked more like the Abby he knew, this time. Her hair was tied back in its usual ponytail, the ring she wore around her neck was still in place, though instead of her familiar white doctors coat she was dressed casually – jeans, a faded blue shirt and a slightly battered looking leather jacket.

The moment he saw her again, he knew.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said.

“No.”

A single word and his whole world was tilted on its axis. “You really...I mean we really...?”

“Yes.” Abby’s voice was bleak and heavy as a death sentence. “I’m so sorry, Marcus.”

He almost laughed. He felt giddy with shock. But the anguished look on her face stopped him, and he crossed the room swiftly to her, instinctively wanting to reassure.

“Why?” he said. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.” He essayed a shy smile, reached out a hand to touch her face gently, desperate to make her believe him. “Abby, it was so—”

She jerked away from his touch, taking a step back and wrapping her arms defensively around herself. “You don’t know...you don’t understand...”

“Then help me to understand. Please Abby.” He was almost begging now but he didn’t care. The look in her eyes was starting to seriously worry him – she looked _frightened._ In all the years he’d known Abby Griffin, he had never once seen her frightened of anything. “If it wasn’t...” He hesitated, wanting to get the words right. “If it wasn’t... _good_ , for you, or if it wasn’t what you wanted...that’s okay. I won’t push you. I mean...I don’t expect anything...”

He trailed off. Abby had closed her eyes as though every word he said was physically painful to her. When she opened them again, he saw they were shining with tears.

“I’m sorry Marcus,” she said. “I came to say goodbye.” The pain in her voice made his chest tighten, but it was nothing to the sharp, wild agony he felt when she said: “You won’t see me again.”

She turned and walked to the door. Panicking now, Marcus followed her.

“What are you talking about? Abby, please—”

 He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to arrest her movement in the gentlest way possible, but she spun around, pushing him hard in the chest, sending him staggering back a few steps until his back hit the wall. For a moment they both stayed there, frozen, and then in a swift, urgent movement Abby closed the distance between them, seized his face in her hands and kissed him _hard._

Every bone in his body turned to liquid fire in an instant, and Marcus wrapped his arms around her, crushing her fiercely to his chest as he kissed her back. Abby’s hands slid up to twine through his hair, clutching, tugging, every lush curve of her body pressing him against the wall. She was so small and deliciously feminine in his arms, but there was not a trace of fragility about her – she was all ferocious, vital strength, pinning him, devouring him, setting him alight from the inside out with her passion. Her hips were grinding against his, driving him mad, the scent of her filled his lungs, she nipped at his lower lip and her tongue tasted of blood. Marcus was helpless in the onslaught, the fear of losing her only making him cling tighter, kiss harder, every thought in his head primal and possessive; _Abby, Abby, my Abby..._

He had never been so turned on in his life. His whole body was aching, crying out for more, howling in the most crude and animal terms its desire to have this woman naked and writhing beneath him as soon as possible, but at the same time he never wanted this moment to end. It was everything he had never dared let himself hope for, everything he had wanted for so long, _so_ long now; final undeniable proof that Abby wanted this as much as he did, wanted _him_ as much as he had always wanted her. Every glance over all those years, every brush of a hand, every secretive smile...it had all meant something to her too.

He moaned into her mouth, a deep fervent sound that was half desire and half sheer, blissful relief. Finally, _finally_ the last barrier between them had fallen away and they could—

Abby broke away suddenly, stumbling back, wrenching herself from their embrace.

_“God!”_

It could have been a curse or a plea, but the shock in her eyes was unmistakable. She looked wrecked, her hair half pulled from its ponytail, her face flushed, her lips swollen. She was panting as if she’d run a mile.

“I can’t...” she stammered, her chest heaving, her voice cracked and wild. “I have to go.”

She backed away, reaching behind her to open the door to his apartment, and Marcus felt the sudden cold grip of dread dousing his desire instantly, a voice inside him that said: _if she walks through that door you’ll never see her again._

And the thought was unbearable, the worst agony he could imagine. He realised in that instant that any caution he had been trying to force upon himself, any careful barriers he thought he might have constructed around his heart had all been useless, because the mere thought of Abby being gone was like dying. He couldn’t imagine his life without her any more, without this brilliant, beautiful, extraordinary woman who had made the nights seem like a gift and had eased the darkness in his heart he had never known weighed him down every step before he knew her.

And it was too soon, too sudden, too much, but the words were spilling out of his mouth even as his heart cried out the truth.

“Don’t go,” he said desperately. “Please. Abby, I love—”

“ _Don’t.”_ Abby drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and he saw a tear spill down her face. “Please, Marcus. I can’t. I’m...I’m so sorry.”

And as Marcus stood there frozen, helpless to stop his life from crumbling around him, she walked through the door and closed it behind her.

 

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

 

It was nearly six months later that he saw her again.

The time had passed slowly, and yet some days it felt like no time at all, and Marcus still half expected to turn the corner in a hospital corridor and see her walking towards him. Work had lost a lot of its charm since Abby left; he stayed because he was used to the hours and he couldn’t bring himself to move on, but every time he walked past her empty office on his rounds he was reminded of what he’d lost. Doctor Jaha didn’t make things better with his occasional snide comments about personal issues costing him one of his best doctors, and he wasn’t the only one who seemed convinced Abby’s departure was Marcus’ fault – Doctor Jackson, who had been a close colleague of Abby’s, barely spoke two words to him these days either.

Not that it really mattered, as nothing could make Marcus feel worse than he already did. Whatever he had done wrong, it had not only lost him Abby, but it had made Abby give up her job, her car, her apartment in the city (he had overheard Jackson had gone to check on her after her letter of resignation and found it empty) just to get away from him.

It was a little past 2am on a Sunday – his usual night off – when it happened. Marcus had felt too cooped up in his apartment, and left to get some fresh air. Stupid, really; living his life at night had given him the illusion that it was safe, normal, and it wasn’t until he was walking down a deserted side street downtown and saw a shadow detach itself from a wall and stroll unhurriedly towards him that he remembered that the night held far worse terrors than loneliness.

The figure stopped a few feet from him and nodded in an almost polite way for Marcus to look around. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him another man had walked up behind him, and was holding something in his hand. It didn’t take a genius to guess what it might be, even if he hadn't seen the sharp glint of metal in the streetlight, and Marcus knew at once he was in serious trouble. He was a fairly tall, physically fit man, and not an obvious target for a mugger. Even a pair working together would naturally look for an easier target – a woman, or someone distracted with their hands full of shopping, or anyone who looked small of weak or nervous. Someone unlikely to fight back. The fact that these two were approaching him so brazenly meant that they were either very stupid...or very confident and probably well armed.

Marcus held his hands out slowly, palms facing forward as the first man approached, an immediate show of surrender. He could take care of himself in a fight, but he wasn’t armed, and it was two on one. He had no intention of getting stabbed and bleeding out in an alley over his damn cellphone.

“Fuck me!” said the man suddenly, as he stopped in front of him. “It’s fucking Kane!”

“You sure?” said the man behind Marcus, and he felt a sudden shiver of recognition. A voice from the past; not one he could place, but one that a part of his mind had never forgotten.

“That’s a face I’m _never_ gonna forget,” said the first man grimly, and now that he was standing in front of him, Marcus thought the face looked as familiar as the voice behind him. He didn’t make a habit of associating with muggers, but there had been a time in his life when he had been surrounded by people like this – when he had worked as a prison guard – and with a sickening feeling of dread, he realised there was only one place these men could have recognised him from. The next words out of the man’s mouth confirmed his fears:

“Four years,” he said. “Four fucking years I was inside and _four fucking more_ because you fucked up my chance for parole. I could have been _out_.”

Marcus didn’t say anything. What could he have said? Telling this man ‘You’re lowlife scum who’s clearly gone right back to mugging people now you’re out of prison and keeping you off the street for four extra years was probably the best thing I’ve ever done’...did not seem like a winning move.

He suspected he was dead either way. If he kept his mouth shut maybe he could avoid a kicking beforehand.

It occurred to Marcus that this realisation probably should have caused him some greater emotion, but he somehow he felt only acceptance. In truth, his life had lost most of its value to him since he had lost Abby. He was just going through the motions now, as he had been for all those long empty years before he had met her. He felt a brief pang when he thought of Bellamy and Octavia; though he had not always had an easy relationship with his niece and nephew and hadn’t seen them in some years, they would be upset to hear what had happened to him. But Aurora was gone, his mother was gone, Abby was gone...there was no-one else left who would even notice his absence, let alone care.

Marcus didn’t even have time to flinch as the man’s arm lunged upwards to thrust the knife into his gut.

...or would have, had another hand not reached out and seized the arm so firmly it halted immediately in midair, as if clamped by iron.

The next few minutes, when he looked back on them, would always seem like a blur to Marcus. And not just because of what happened afterwards, but because the whole thing was so fast that it was almost _literally_ a blur to his eyes. The man with the knife was flipped over backward and thrown so hard to the ground that he actually skidded several feet along the grimy alley floor. His friend behind Marcus swore loudly and ran to help, but instead ended up crumpled on the ground beside him. Both men managed to raise their heads weakly, wheezing and blinking with confusion at the figure in front of them, standing between them and where Marcus himself stood, frozen in shock.

It was a woman, slightly built and without any visible weapon at all. She made no more move towards the two muggers, simply standing there looking down on them. Marcus couldn’t see her face from her he was, but the men on the ground could.

Whatever they saw made them scramble clumsily to their feet and run.

Marcus hardly dared make a sound; if anything he felt more fear now than he had a moment ago when his death had been certain. What had just happened didn’t seem possible. All he could do was stand there in mute apprehension, his heart pounding against his ribcage, as the sounds of the two men’s running footsteps faded into the distance.

And then his rescuer turned to face him.

Marcus stared.

“ _Abby...”_ he breathed.

For a moment he wondered if he had hit his head, or that this whole thing was some kind of strange dream. But no – as astounding as it was to see her here, he would never make that mistake again. She was _real,_ just as the chill of the night air was real, just as the pounding of his own heart and the sound of distant sirens in the city were real. She was panting with exertion, her eyes bright, face flushed. She was wearing a dark leather jacket and her hair was loose, long strands of it falling about her face, glowing golden in the street lights. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Marcus,” she said, and _oh_ just hearing her voice again was like the first breath of air after drowning. “Are you hurt?”

He didn’t speak, didn’t think, just crossed the space between them and swept her into his arms. He had no idea why she was here, how she was here, but right now he didn’t give a damn because she was _here._ He held her to him tightly, and felt her arms wrap around him in return as she sank into his embrace.

_Abby...Abby...my Abby..._

When they loosened their grip on each other enough for her to step back within the circle of his arms and look up at him, he saw that her eyes were shining with tears.

“You grew out your beard,” he said softly, reaching a hand up to cup his jawline, stroking her fingers through the soft bristly hair. “It looks good.”

The tenderness of her touch was almost more than he could bear; Marcus released one of his hands from their tight embrace to reach up and cover her own. Her fingers felt so small and delicate under his.

“Abby,” he said, his voice raw and unsteady. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“So did I,” she whispered, and Marcus knew that there were questions he needed to ask, things he needed to know, so many things he didn’t understand which didn’t make any sense at all, but Abby’s face was so close to his and her lips were parted sweetly and her breath was trembling into the air between them and his heart was hammering in his chest and he _couldn’t think._

 He never knew whether he kissed her or she kissed him, of if, for once, they were simply in perfect accord. But here, in this dark, filthy alleyway, they found each other again, and all the months of hopeless longing, of missing her desperately, of wondering if he would ever see her again, poured into a kiss that felt like nothing in his life mattered but this.

She was here, and the sheer relief mixed with adrenaline pounding through his veins made for a powerful as hell aphrodisiac, and he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, not caring that none of this made sense, not caring what came next. Not caring when she whimpered into his mouth, when she broke away and looked up at him with eyes so dark they were like pools of ink in the night, not caring when she bowed her head and sank her teeth into his neck.

Marcus felt his body jerk with a spike of sudden pain and shock, and then...a strange, dreamy languor slipped through his veins, like a soft golden fog. The fact that Abby’s lips were pressed against his neck, her teeth buried deep in his skin, wasn’t a concern; in fact it felt _nice,_ pleasurable even, perfectly right. He felt the kind of blissful surrender that he associated with really good sex, a letting go of everything but pure physical sensation, giving himself up to another person completely.

_Abby._ He was hers, and glad to be hers. He would always be hers.

From somewhere at the back of his mind, a faint voice was telling him that he was cold, and that was strange because Abby was so _warm_ in his arms, so wonderfully soft and perfect. His desire for her had banked to a smouldering flicker deep inside, overwhelmed by the desire now just to stay in her embrace forever, to breathe only the scent of her hair, to feel only the sweetness of her lips on his skin, to slip into the endless dream of her and never wake...

_“No!”_

Abby leapt back with a horrified cry, retreating faster than he would have thought possible to the other side of the alley. In the sickly yellow glow of the streetlight, he saw her wide, shocked eyes and the dark smear around her mouth. As he stared at her, uncomprehending, a thin rivulet of the dark liquid slid from her lower lip and ran down the pale column of her neck.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Marcus raised his hand to his own neck. His fingers came away wet.

The flickering yellow sodium light began to fog the edges of his vision. The alleyway swam and blurred before his eyes. As he crumpled to the ground and drifted into unconsciousness, the last thing he was aware of was of someone catching his fall, of slender arms lifting him as he though he weighed no more than a feather, carrying him away.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

 

Marcus struggled to consciousness as if pushing through a thick blanket of fog. The first thing he saw was Abby, sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the dark room, watching him anxiously as he woke. A feeling of sheer, overwhelming relief crashed through him. She was really here. He hadn’t imagined her.

“Abby...” he said softly, his voice creaking back into use. His limbs felt heavy, and it was an effort even to raise his head a little way off the pillows.

“I won’t hurt you,” said Abby immediately.

“Don’t leave...”

A pause, an infinite moment of stomach churning hesitation and then: “I won’t.”

He was vaguely aware of something hooked up to his arm, but at her words his mind relaxed enough to drift back into sleep again. He kept his eyes on Abby until the last, as if in some way he could keep her with him just by that.

When he awoke the next time, Abby was still in the same chair, as though she hadn’t moved the entire time. Marcus felt stronger, though terribly thirsty. There was a glass of water by his bed, and he reached out to take it his hand trembled a little, but was steady enough to drink deeply and replace the glass without it falling. His immediate need slaked, he pushed himself up into something like a sitting position in bed. Whatever had been connected to his arm before, real or imagined, was no longer there now. In her chair, Abby made a sharp movement, as though she had meant to cross the room to stop him from moving, and then stopped herself instead.

“How do you feel?” she said quietly.

“Fine,” Marcus lied, because it was the answer that question always wanted to hear. “Where are we?”

“My place. It was closer.”

He frowned. “I thought you left the city?”

Abby shifted in her seat. “No.”

A single word, but it was threaded with palpable pain.

“How did we get here?” Marcus asked.

“I carried you.”

That was a mental image so unexpected he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, but as more of his memories were flooding back, and with them the realisation that this probably wasn’t the strangest thing he was going to have to accept in the near future. All the things he had been trying not to think about for so many months, all the strange events and guilty suspicions he had felt surrounding Abby Griffin seemed to have coalesced in his mind while he slept, bringing him to a conclusion he couldn’t bring himself to voice out loud.

But she knew. Looking at her, he could tell that she knew.

Abby watched him silently, apparently not inclined to speak unless to answer him. Marcus found his head buzzing with questions, each sounding more ridiculous than the last, but strangely the one that blurted out first was:

“Are there more like you?”

Abby blinked for a moment; it obviously hadn’t been the question she had been expecting either. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly, but then nodded. “My daughter...”

“She’s like you?”

“Yes. _Because_ of me.”

“Your husband...?”                 

Abby shook her head. “Clarke never forgave me for not turning Jake too, to save him...but he never wanted this life. He died nearly sixty years ago now.”

Marcus felt his breath catch in his throat. “You’re—”

Abby smiled sadly. “Part of the whole package, I guess,” she said. “When they say ‘damned for all eternity’ they really mean it.”

“Don’t say that,” Marcus said instinctively. This whole conversation had the air of the surreal about it, but this at least he could cling onto, the immediate clenching of his heart at those words. “Please.”

“I shouldn’t be saying _any_ of this to you,” Abby said. “I shouldn’t be here. I should have left, I... _meant_ to leave. I did. But I kept coming back, just to see you, to make sure you were alright...”

“That’s why you left?” asked Marcus, a strange flicker of hope lighting in his chest. Perhaps it wasn’t something he had done after all. Perhaps she didn’t hate him. “Because you didn’t want me to find out you were...what you are?”

“Marcus you know I’m a vampire,” said Abby bluntly. “You don’t have to dance around the word.”

Now Marcus felt like an idiot. “I was worried it might be offensive,” he admitted.

Abby stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “After everything that’s just happened, you’re worried about _offending_ me?” she asked. “Marcus, I could have _killed_ you.”

“But you didn’t. You saved my life. What happened wasn’t your fault. You...you obviously didn’t mean to. I understand that.”

“You don’t.” said Abby. “You _can’t_.” She leapt from the chair suddenly in a swift, fluid motion that made Marcus jump slightly. He could tell by her face that she noticed his reaction, and he immediately hated himself for it. But in for a penny in for a pound; he had to know the truth. He felt ridiculous even asking but:

“Do you...well...crave blood?” he asked tentatively. “Like in all the stories?”

Abby nodded. “I do, but in the same way an alcoholic craves whiskey. It’s bad, but...I can deal with it.” Her face twisted miserably. “Up until now.”

“And so you chose to work in a _distillery?”_ Marcus asked.

It took Abby a moment to understand what he meant. “Oh the hospital?” she said. “I’m a doctor. I always have been, since before I was turned. I wasn’t about to give that up.”

Marcus absorbed this. “That’s...amazing.”

Abby blinked at him for a moment, as though the thought hadn’t even occurred to her. The she looked away, casting her face into shadow. She looked, in this moment, very small. Human.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she said quietly. “Like I’m...like you still...”

Marcus felt her misery as almost a palpable thing, and it made his heart ache. He still felt weak, disoriented, half in a dream, but his need to lift the terrible weight that seemed to be dragging Abby down was stronger than any other concern.

“Abby, whatever else you are, you’re my friend,” he said. “Everything I know about you, all the time we spent together, every conversation we had...that was real. I know it was. When you came to me that night, that was real too. And you must know I—” The words caught in his throat for a moment. “I care about you,” he finished finally. “One mistake won’t change that. It doesn’t erase the good you’ve done. It doesn’t change how much better my life was when you were in it.”

“I was never the person you thought I was,” said Abby. “I lied to you, Marcus. Every day.”

He managed a small smile. “Every _night_ ,” he corrected.

But Abby didn’t meet his eyes. She could not or would not allow the mood between them to be lightened. Whatever initial pleasure she might have felt at their reunion – and Marcus hadn’t forgotten it, that fervent kiss that had been as much her desire as his – had been overshadowed by doubt. He got the impression she had failed some kind of personal test, and had her worst fears confirmed. He tried to put himself in Abby’s place, to think about how _he_ would feel if he ever hurt her, even accidentally, and the thought twisted a knife into his gut.

Abby turned and reached for the door to the room, and the knife twisted further.

“Please don’t leave,” he blurted out.

It sounded pathetic even to his own ears, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t let her slip away again, he knew there was a way they could work this out, a way to keep her in his life, but he needed time to convince her. If she left now...

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” said Abby quietly, still not looking directly at him. “That’s all.”

“You won’t take off again?”

A long silence.

“I’ll stay until you’re recovered,” Abby said. “That’s all I can promise for now.”

* * *

 

She stayed for a week. It was without a doubt the strangest week Marcus had ever experienced, but also in some ways the best of his life.

He had never lived with another person like this, however temporarily, sharing space in a small apartment. It was a minor revelation every time he awoke – in the evening as the sun was setting, as was his habit – to find himself not alone. Just the sounds of Abby walking around in the next room was a pleasure so unexpected he knew he could never begin to explain it to her. Marcus had always lived a solitary life, but he had never felt truly lonely until these past six months while Abby had been gone. But now...there should be a word that meant the opposite of ‘loneliness’, he thought. Something to describe the quiet, fundamental joy of simply having someone _there._ It was the feeling that had been taking hold of his heart ever since he’d met Abby Griffin, the feeling he couldn’t bear to let go, no matter what else happened.

For her part, Abby was a little quiet and closed off, but there was a strange kind of peace about her too that Marcus had never seen before, as though someone knowing the truth was a relief in of itself.  And any question he asked she answered readily; about her true nature, about the life she led. She hadn’t ever really _lied_ to him, he realised, simply....omitted a few important details.

Crucifixes didn’t bother her, or garlic, though she didn’t like the taste much, a fact which Marcus privately considered almost blasphemy in of itself. She had a reflection in a mirror, and they had a long debate on what possible scientific reason there could be for _anything_ not having one. She ate normal food and enjoyed it fine, and believed that she would probably starve to death without it the same as anyone, though she had never put this to the test. She could cross running water. Her night vision was excellent, her hearing even better. She could move extremely quickly and lift any item of furniture in her apartment, quite easily, with one hand, and willingly demonstrated this. When Marcus requested that she go outside and lift a car above her head, and suggested she might find a Wonder Woman costume to wear first, he saw her smile for the first time since he’d found her again.

Sunlight; that was the thing. There was no dramatic crumbling to dust, she told him, but even a faintly sunny day would make her feel sick, dizzy, and start to burn her skin in a few minutes. Overcast weather was bearable, but she felt tired all the time – “I guess I’m just made to be nocturnal,” she said, and Marcus had to stop himself from telling her that he’d often felt the same way himself.

The other thing, of course, was blood. There was no escaping that part of it. On the second day he felt well enough to get out of bed, and after gratefully taking advantage of Abby’s shower, he walked into her kitchen to find her with a glass of some deep red liquid that didn’t exactly take a genius to identify.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Something like that,” said Abby. She didn’t make any attempt to hide her drink, and Marcus wondered if she’d intended him to witness this, if it was some kind of test. “I get it from a contact at the hospital. It comes in sterile packaging, of course, but it seems kind of crass to drink it right from the packet.”

“You drink it cold?” Marcus asked.

“I warm it up in the microwave.”

He must have made a face because Abby frowned. “ _You_ eat Pot Noodles,” she said tartly. “And those weird hot dogs from the stand outside the hospital.”

“You’re right,” said Marcus, glad her melancholy had lifted enough that she was willing to push back just a little. “We’re both disgusting.”

Abby cracked a reluctant smile, and Marcus grinned back, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. It was a small victory every time, teasing those smiles from her, as he had always used to be able to do so easily in their time together before. All those nights at the hospital, sharing a coffee break and a joke, bickering over politics, enjoying each other’s company... Marcus had meant what he’d said to her – he did not believe for a moment that the friendship he’d shared with Abby these past five years had been a lie. He couldn’t feel the betrayal of trust that she so obviously expected at having hidden this part of herself from him, but was more inclined to be profoundly grateful at the trust she was putting in him _now_ by revealing it. He found he could believe in both versions of Abby quite easily; the gentle, kind Doctor Griffin with her lab coats and dry sense of humour...and the dark, sensual creature who had haunted his dreams and sunk her teeth into his willing flesh. They seemed in no way incompatible, just different facets of the woman who had come to mean _everything_ to him.

It should have felt more strange, all of this. For a while Marcus wondered if he might be in shock, but instead he just felt...relieved. For a long time now, he had felt as though he had been living a life somehow separate from the rest of the world, and the bizarre turn it had taken felt almost inevitable. Perhaps in some way he had always known that Abby was different. She always had seemed that way to him. There had always been a draw there, powerful and indefinable, a thrilling potentially between them, and it was gratifying to know that Abby had felt the same way. He was, at least, _something_ to her, even if he wasn’t quite sure what.

His strength returned quickly, and Marcus felt back to his usual self after just a couple of days – or nights – but tried not to appear too healthy, even though he felt bad about playing on Abby’s guilt. In truth, he was terrified that as soon as she saw him well again she would simply disappear like last time. At least for now she seemed content to have someone to talk to, to spill the secrets she had been hiding for so long. If a confidant was what she needed, then that was what he would be for her, happily.

But even so... he hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to ask the most important question of all.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of actual vampire porn in this supposedly vampire porn fic, I promise the next chapter will be at least 80% pornier or Your Money Back ;)


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